


Magnets

by 3wisellamas



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: American Football, Gen, also lots and lots of perspective switching because hiveminds are weird, computer science jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3wisellamas/pseuds/3wisellamas
Summary: Raymond plays a simple game of football, with himself as every player.  What could go wrong?





	Magnets

He knelt down, his hand holding the football carefully in place, and the players forming the twin lines around him did the same.  He didn't even need to call out the play as he ran through it again in his mind; he knew intrinsically that each of his teammates knew every position, every move.  
  
He knew intrinsically that each of his opponents did as well.    
  
"Hike!"  
  
The green robots on either side of him rushed forward, ramming right into and wrestling identical players to the ground as he snatched the ball and held it aloft.  He jogged a few steps back, safely out of the fray, and his red eyes scanned the field for a receiver, finding him positioned near the old conveyor belt that served as the boundary line, just as planned.  
  
He launched the ball.  
  
It sailed into his claws and he gripped it tight.  Without a second thought he tucked it under his arm and ran, his path following right along the sideline as he ducked around two other players, who collided in a shower of sparks.  
  
A poor choice, nonetheless.  He looked up at the two massive defenders charging towards him, their arms held in between.  No way around, no way through; he was blocked in.  
  
Seeing no other option, he planted his feet, fell onto one knee, and slammed the ball into the tile floor.  It wasn't the first down he'd hoped for, but a 3-yard gain was better than nothing.  
  
Almost immediately, a spiked elbow plunged into his chest, bowling him over and sending the ball bouncing off to nowhere in particular.  
  
He pushed his fellow defender off of him and slowly stood, brushing off his scuffed elbow spike and extending a hand down to help his opponent get back up as well.  The running back he'd plowed into now sported a nasty-looking dent in his chest, but would be far from benched from the injury.  
  
"Woo!  Go Raymond!"  
  
He noticed Darrell waving at him from a balcony above the empty factory floor, with Shannon leaning against the metal rail, more interested in her phone than the game below.  
  
Raymond glanced at the 20 or so other Raymonds with him on the makeshift field, each with a random number crudely spray-painted onto his back.  
  
"You're going to need to be more specific, Brother," he shouted in response.  
  
"Uhh..."  The red robot studied the field for a few seconds.  "Raymond number...23?"  
  
Somewhere behind him, the Raymond with the dent in his chest and the number 23 painted on his back cheered, and Darrell cheered again with him.  
  
He groaned at the attention that his brother should have given to him.  
  
He was delighted that his brother had picked him to cheer for.  
  
He was confused, wondering if two of him chatting with Darrell counted as a time out.  
  
He was even more confused as his hivemind raced, sinking to the floor and holding his head as he recalled his primary consciousness from the other Raymonds, ordering them to simply wait on the sideline.  
  
"Ugh, time out..."  
  
"Aw man, I didn't throw you off, did I?"  Darrell leaned over the railing, concerned.  "I'm sorry..."  
  
"No, no, it's alright, Brother."  Jets hidden in Raymond's feet activated, and he effortlessly climbed up to the balcony and swung over its railing so he would no longer have to shout up to his siblings.  "This was...not going well regardless. We've already reached the fourth quarter, and our only score so far has been a single field goal!"  
  
He motioned towards an old forklift that he'd turned over at one end of the "field", to serve as a goalpost.  
  
Shannon finally looked up at him from over her shoulder.  "You know, Ray, we _will_ play with you, all you gotta do is ask."  
  
Raymond held up his hand.  "Sister, I insist, I won't put you and Darrell through that again after our last game."  
  
"Please, I was doing just fine.  Darrell's the one who can't hit a baseball worth a crap."  
  
"It's true.  I don't have depth perception."  Darrell looked down, dejectedly, as his siblings completely ignored him.  
  
"I think you just don't like being outmatched at your own game."  She smirked. "Still a little mad about all those perfect home runs I blocked?"  
  
"No!" Raymond huffed.  "And besides, I won that game for the most hits, since neither of us scored a single run."  He crossed his arms and turned back to the field, looking sadly over his other selves.  
  
"Still, even with a single score this is far from an improvement."  He sighed. "Now I'm _too_ evenly matched.  There's simply no strategy to be had, when I know every thought of every player."  
  
"So, go back to playing against Team Shannon?"  
  
He scowled.  "No."  
  
"Heh.  Sore loser."  She turned her attention back to the holographic phone projected from her arm, as Raymond snarled at her.  
  
"I am not a sore loser!!"  
  
"You did scream and throw the bat when I got a pitch past you," Darrell pointed out, to which Raymond's irritation only grew.  
  
"You throw right-handed, Brother!  It threw me off at first because I was used to Shannon!"  He suddenly sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down as he exhaled.  "Anyway. I'm fine. I do enjoy the extra challenge, I just...need to work out the kinks."  
  
He looked back to the Lesser Raymonds below him, all with the same stare, and with the same thoughts running through their processors.  Even painting numbers onto their backs didn't change the fact that they were all _him_ , that they were all one and the same, especially when he temporarily granted them his full consciousness.  
  
If only he could introduce even a tiny element of randomness, to remove that inescapable awareness of his other selves...  
  
Raymond considered the puzzle for a moment, but quickly pushed it aside.  He still had a fourth quarter to finish, and he vaulted back over the rail, using his foot jets again to soften the landing.  He knelt over the football, already returned to its proper spot on the line of scrimmage, and closed his eyes for a moment to focus.  
  
He blinked a few times, and he and all of the other Raymonds trudged back onto the field, taking up their positions on the line.  He went over a series of possible plays in his head, and selected one he hadn't tried in a while. The quarterback snapped the ball and immediately passed it to him, and he bravely charged forward into the wall of defenders, holding it close.  
  
He got right in his own way, stopping himself in his tracks, shoving the ball carrier right to the ground as Darrell cheered in the distance.    
  
Third and 7.  Zero yard gain, yet again.

 

\---

 

Not long after the game concluded with a final score of 3-0, Raymond made his way back to the field, his left hand cupped around something concealed in a thick oven mitt.  The football had been discarded in one of the endzones, and as he passed through he gently kicked it back towards the center of the field, balancing a foot on top of it as he scanned his Lesser Raymond team.

“Now, which one of me to try?”  With his free hand he picked up the football and playfully tossed it in the air a few times.

He turned his back to the crowd and nonchalantly chucked the ball over his shoulder, hearing that familiar sound of his own claws snatching it from midair.  With his lucky test subject selected, he turned to face them again.

“Well, Raymond number…”  He poked his head around to the robot’s back.  “...36, it seems you’re our VIP for today.”

He unfolded his gloved hand, revealing a small refrigerator magnet -- naturally, in the shape of a plastic letter R.  He carefully adjusted his grip to hold the magnet side outward, and pressed it to the side of the other Raymond’s head.

He pulled off the oven mitt and reviewed his work, a sinister smile spreading across his angular face.  “Now, then, to test...”

He backed up several paces, and motioned for Raymond number 36 to throw him the football, which he did, perfectly.  Not even a slight change in his throwing angle or timing, Raymond sadly observed.

“So, nothing after all?”

The Lesser Raymond thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“No effect that I can tell.”

“Drat…”  He started to slump forward in defeat, but caught himself.  “Wait, run my hivemind consistency test!”

“Ah, of course!”  Both Raymonds paused, and suddenly a series of complex yet identical calculations flooded his mind, leaving little room to process much else.  The calculation’s final result presented itself only a few seconds later, and both robots automatically began listing out a short string of hexadecimal digits:

“0x0DB10328.”

“0x0DB8032F.”

Raymond’s eyes widened, and his face lit up in a shaky smile.  

“It did work!”  He gripped his own shoulders.  “You’re glitching! The magnet actually worked!”

He sighed.  “Just...not well enough to affect your playing yet.”  He retrieved the oven mitt and carefully pulled the magnet off of the Lesser Raymond’s head, studying it.  

“Perhaps a more powerful one of these is in order, then.”

It took a couple of days to sneak one into the factory past Lord Boxman, but Raymond eventually returned to the field and his collection of Raymonds, once again with his oven-mitted hand wrapped around a magnet.  This one was much larger, a palm-sized circular slab, and even through the glove he could feel it gently clinging to his metal hand.

“Now then.”  Lesser Raymond number 36 stepped forward on his own, ready.  

He paused, taking some extra time to unwrap the glove around the magnet as it stuck to his claws, careful not to use his other, uninsulated hand to assist.  Slowly he held it out to the side of his test subject’s head, where it snapped into place.

The look in the robot's eyes changed immediately, his bright red irises becoming dull as they morphed into a more square, unrefined shape.  He tried to focus onto that particular Raymond’s mind, and could certainly still feel his consciousness in place, and his download circuit was fully functional, but the upload data being sent back to his hivemind seemed...fuzzy.  Almost corrupted.

“Well?  Any luck?”  

He opened his mouth to respond, but the only sound he could utter was loud static.

“Excellent!”  Raymond laughed in triumph, his hands on his hips.

The Lesser Raymond tried to give a static-y laugh as well, but instead of placing his hands on his hips he raised his claws to his mouth.  At seeing the complete lack of synchronization between them, Raymond’s delight only increased.

“Now, to outfit the rest of the team!”  He pulled out a box containing several more of the magnets, making sure to only handle them with his gloved hand, and soon enough he was split successfully into two even teams, one with the magnets attached to their heads and the other untouched.

One final step.  He closed his eyes and let his primary consciousness expand into the Lesser Raymonds around him.

He opened his eyes.  Everything was blurry, especially on the side of his head that the magnet clung to.  He blinked a few times, his systems compensating for the error by switching to his sharper combat vision.  Then, with his vision restored to an acceptable level, he prepared for a simple test play, grabbing the football and stepping up to the 50 yard line with his teammates.

The glitched Raymond realized his opposing defenders’ playbook was no longer running through his mind, nor was his running through anyone else on Team Magnet.  He took a moment to glance towards the players on either side; they could only return his look of confusion.

He yelled something in static, roughly translating to “Time out!”, which was thankfully understood.  The magnet-wearing team huddled together, and he tried as best he could to motion out a simple pass play.  They regrouped to try again, and with a loud blast of static he snapped the ball

He had no idea what his opponent’s plan was, and it was beautiful.  Raymond watched the glitched quarterback’s motions carefully, spreading his team’s defense as wide as possible as he detected an incoming pass.  

But...to where?  For the first time, he had no idea whatsoever -- Raymond could feel his hivemind spread into the magnet players, but any data he could probe from them was unreadable.  His eyes swept across the field as the ball was launched into the air, and he immediately calculated its destination as a Raymond already far behind him, completely unguarded.

“When the hell did he…?”  

Raymond caught himself mid-sentence, and tried to run for the receiver immediately, but something big and green shoved him to the ground before he could even move; yet another magnet-wearing Raymond he failed to even notice getting into position.  He watched from the floor as the ball sailed right to the receiver’s claws...and then right past them, bouncing off at an odd angle on the floor as he stopped in his tracks.

He paused, and attempted to shake the static from his head, to no effect.  How in the world had he missed such an easy pass? The angle and speed had been calculated so perfectly…

Oh.  Right.  How could he forget his own glitched condition already?

The players all lined up for a second down.  Somehow, even in Raymond’s relatively fragmented state, the test play had become a test quarter.

This time, the quarterback motioned for a rushing play, a much safer option compared to the delicate timing calculations of a pass.  Once again, he felt a very distant, faint tug at his consciousness, his hivemind trying and failing to reconnect, and worked through the error messages as he hiked the ball and charged forward.   

He managed a first down before a defender could detect and catch him.

And another.

And a third, slowly making his way right to the 10-yard line -- 1st and Goal.  In his delight he decided to risk another pass, his systems readily compensating for his altered senses and processing.  He huddled with his magnetized teammates and carefully motioned out his plans.

He struggled to peek over his opponents’ shoulders as he ran a very sketchy defensive strategy through his un-magnetized team.  The other Raymonds didn’t even need to acknowledge the plan, able to understand it immediately as usual, though with a noticeable degree of unease.

For the first time since he’d began playing with Lesser Raymonds instead of his siblings, he was nervous, and the sensation was sickening.

The two teams lined up, and Raymond scanned the offensive line, desperate for a clue as to his opponents’ next move.  To his surprise, though, they weren’t setting up for another rushing play as predicted…

His defensive strategy immediately changed, and the instant the ball was hiked four defenders scrambled to take down any player who dared to run forward.  The quarterback, trapped, had no choice but to forfeit his ground as the rest of the unglitched team piled onto him for a sack. Any nerves he had were gone, now that he’d finally figured out how to deal with his opponent.

Oh, he had figured out how to deal with him, indeed.  As he finally disentangled himself from the mass of green metal, Raymond tapped one of the defense on the shoulder, hard.  He motioned towards the magnet stuck to him, then towards the other player’s head, and then grimly pointed to the box sitting on the sideline.

“...What?”

He stomped to the sideline and kicked the box out onto the field, its contents spilling out and clattering into a small pile as some of the magnets attracted each other.  Another of his teammates deciphered the intent and retrieved the oven mitt, motioning to the side of his head and then to the un-magnetized Raymonds.

“Oh.  Right.”  He sighed; they certainly had a point, if they were saying what he thought they were saying.  Somewhere in the fog that had partially filled his hivemind, their frustration at the failed play shone through -- the magnets glitching his processors were quite the handicap, even with the randomness they finally brought to the game, and it was only fair that they all had it.

He recalled his hivemind once again, gruffly commanding his team to line up as one by one he applied magnets to them as well.

 _One last player._  He hesitated, staring for a second at the magnet in his gloved hand.  Was it even necessary, since his connection to the others was already reduced?  It wasn’t like his unimpeded processor was much of an advantage anymore.

He shrugged, and snapped it onto the side of his head.

WARNING: PRIMARY CONSCIOUSNESS DISCONNECTED.  SYSTEM WILL REBOOT IN 10 SECONDS TO PREVENT DATA LOSS.

Nope.  With some effort, he managed to pull the magnet back off of him, throwing it back into its box where it clattered and stuck to a few leftovers.  The alarms blaring in his mind quieted immediately.

Shrugging it off, he gave a thumbs-up to the former magnetized team, and set up for the second down.

Mere moments later, pinned to the ground, he watched as Raymond number 15 lightly jogged right past his entire defense into the endzone, spiking the ball and whooping in static as he scored the touchdown.

He was overjoyed, and even swayed his hips a little as he retrieved the ball -- there certainly wasn’t a rule against touchdown dances, now that he’d finally managed one.  No one was even close enough to touch him as he ran right in!

He mimed kicking the ball to his teammates, and they lined up in front of the overturned forklift for the extra point attempt, with their opponents slowly getting the picture and following suit.

The test quarter became a full game, already with a score of 0-7.

Then 0-14.

Then 3-14.

Then 3-21.

“Time out!” he shouted as the first quarter drew to a close, shoving Raymond numbers 83 and 20 off of him.

He was actually losing.

But he was also winning!

But more importantly, _he was losing._  

“I said time out!” he yelled again as a few players set up on the line despite his orders.  He stomped up to one of them, roughly poking him in the chest. “You can hear me through that thing, right?  I am the only one still talking here!”

More of his opponents gathered, scowling.  One mimed poking at an imaginary wristwatch, obviously eager to get back to the game.

“Do you even know who I am?”  He rolled his eyes. “Oh what am I saying, of course you do.  You’re me.”

His eyes narrowed.  “So you know then, I don’t lose.”

He roughly shoved himself in response, and said something in static that he hoped translated to, “Neither do I.”

He regained his balance and tried to shove back, but got a hard punch to the gut for his effort.  The robot’s hivemind quickly erupted into chaos, with his frustration being acted upon by players on both teams.  Fists, plasma blasts, balls and sports equipment of all kinds, several insults in static, and eventually broken limbs and scrap metal flew across the field as Raymond fought Raymond -- the battle lasted only a total of thirty seconds, but by the end of it only two stood among the remains of both teams.

And it only took another second for there to be only one, as the sole unglitched Raymond’s head was blown clean off by a well-placed plasma shot.

WARNING: PRIMARY CONSCIOUSNESS DISCONNECTED.  SYSTEM WILL REBOOT IN 10 SECONDS TO PREVENT DATA LOSS.

He gave a tiny shriek in alarm and immediately ripped the magnet off of his head to reconnect.  The warning messages ceased, but Raymond still quickly regretted the decision as he realized that the very large, very strong magnet was now very stuck right to his metal hand, with a noticeable numbing sensation taking over his entire arm along with it.  

He shook his wrist vigorously to knock it loose, then after that failed he tried to use his foot to pry it off, only to then have the magnet and the numbness transferred to it instead.  Dejected, he limped to the sideline, sinking down onto the floor as he scanned what had once been a functional, if crude, football field.

Now it was a crude yet functional football field covered in a layer of scrap.

“This is far from what I mean by putting all of myself onto the field,” he joked sadly to himself, swiping away a few pieces of his own casing on the tiles next to him.  He’d have to clean everything up before he tried to hold another game on the spot, if another game even came to pass. Certainly, playing with two teams entirely made up of himself had proven to be a terrible idea.

Especially since, no matter what tricks he tried or which side won, he was simply bound to lose.

 

\---

 

Raymond knelt at the line of scrimmage, placing his hand on the ball and running the play through his team’s hivemind.  He glanced upward, locking eyes with the opposing team -- Shannon looked back at each of him almost mockingly.

He filtered out the high-pitched voice yelling his name from the sideline -- they had invited a few Darrells to be on each team, but their brother had been far too excited about his brand-new limited-edition cheerleader costume to accept.  

“Hike!”  

He took several steps backward and quickly launched the ball to his intended receiver, who had already managed to sneak behind his sisters to the 40-yard line.  The ball sailed through the air, the speed and angle perfectly calculated...but was grabbed midflight by a pair of orange hands, attached to arms that nearly extended across the field.

“Whoops, intercepted!”  Shannon retracted her arms, kicking dust into another Raymond’s face as she bolted toward his endzone.  With possession changed, Darrell immediately switched to cheering her on instead as she ran, dropping his green pom poms in favor of orange ones at his feet.

“Shannon, that wasn’t fair and you know it!” he cried out as two more Raymonds rushed to pull her down at the 20.

“Yeah, it was.”  She absentmindedly tossed the ball around as she got back up.  “You’re not gonna go total sore loser on us again, are you Ray?”

“I am _not_ a-”  Raymond paused, looking around at his newly-manufactured team sheepishly.  “I won’t be a sore loser this time, Sister. I promise.”

“That’s good.  Because you’ll definitely be at least a regular loser this time!”  She giggled a little as they set up for and snapped the next play, and easily rushed forward past her brother with the ball.

As she crossed the 10-yard line, though, something caught onto her foot.  Something...sticky.

“Um, what the heck is this?”  She paused, trying to shake off the big metal _thing_ that seemed determined to stay attached to her.  She looked back at the Raymonds, who all tried to stifle laughter as their trap was finally sprung.

“Oh, now who’s not playing fair?!”  Shannon tried again in vain to scrape her foot across the floor tiles in an unsuccessful effort to get the magnet off.  Uncontested by her brother, she limped right into the endzone and angrily slammed the ball down.

“Whatever, I still got a touchdown.  Now someone help me get this damn thing off.”

Raymond smiled.  Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> (Fun fact: Literally all of my knowledge of football comes from videos game. So, excuse anything I messed up.)


End file.
